Tea Break
by disc-on-tent
Summary: Colonel Sheppard searches for a team member.Complete
1. Chapter 1

Title: Tea Break

Spoilers: None.

Setting: Late second / early third season.

Rating: T For content.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Colonel Sheppard searches for a team member.

Warnings: Dark fic – reference to torture – nothing very graphic.

A/N: As always, wonderfully beta'd by Kiky - Thanks again Kiky.

Tea Break

Sheppard shifted his body slightly, easing his handgun into a more comfortable position.

From where he lay, high up in the roof space, he could observe the entire room below him. It was a simple, square room, about twenty feet across with a single door in the centre of one of the white-tiled walls. It looked like every other room he'd seen in the complex so far. It wasn't the one he was searching for, but it might lead him to it.

A table and two mismatched wooden chairs were the only furnishings. There were two full mugs on the table, and a young man seated on one of the chairs. The youth lounged with his feet up on the table, a slice of rich fruitcake in his hand.

Sheppard stiffened as the door opened and a second, older man walked into the room. Instantly, the youth whipped his feet from the table, sitting straighter in his chair. There was no problem in identifying which was the boss.

"Well, that took longer than I expected." The older man's voice sounded hoarse and raspy, as though he was suffering from a heavy cold. "Always remember, Sutton, no matter how reliable your informants are, they are no substitute for hands-on work." He settled himself comfortably into the second chair with a heavy sigh and reached for the closer of the two mugs.

The young man set his uneaten slice of cake down on the table with a nervous grin.

Lifting the mug to his lips, the older man took a large mouthful of liquid and closed his eyes appreciatively. "You know, Sutton, I sometimes think that the sole reason I keep you on is because you're the only person here who knows how to make my tea exactly how I like it." He took another deep swallow, "Let's face it, you're still abysmal at extracting information from Clients."

Sheppard could see Sutton's ears reddening in humiliation, but felt no sympathy for the youth. He simply gripped his handgun more firmly and waited.

"According to my sources, this particular Client should have crumbled at the first touch of a blade." Sutton's boss finished his drink and placed the mug back on the table. "But, d'you know what, it took me three fingers just to get him to confirm that Atlantis hadn't been destroyed." He reached into a pocket, took out a large, white handkerchief, blew his nose noisily and sniffed.

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, Minister Jarrod, why do we spend so much time researching the Clients after they arrive?" The young man's voice was thin and reedy, sounding even younger than his appearance suggested.

"No, that's a good question, Sutton." Jarrod smiled graciously across the table, "There are two main reasons why we seek information on our Clients before we start our work." He held up a finger. "Firstly, if we know the Client's emotional weaknesses, our job can be half-way completed before we begin." He turned a piercing gaze on the young man. "Always remember, Sutton, there is more to our work than the physical extraction of information; a well-timed word can unlock deeper secrets than an hour with the blade."

Sutton gave a solemn nod, his face set in an expression of earnest attention.

"Secondly," The older man continued, after pausing for a moment to cough into his handkerchief, "It's useful to know of any medical infirmities before we start, as these can severely hinder certain lines of enquiry. Explaining to the Customer that the Client has not survived long enough to provide the required information is embarrassing, and something that it is always prudent to avoid." He gave a husky chuckle. "Luckily, this Client suffered from nothing more serious than a few allergies, and these merely offered me some fascinating new avenues to explore."

Sheppard's eyes hardened and his finger itched on the trigger, but still he waited.

"It's not often that I have the opportunity to try something different nowadays, and a couple of techniques seemed very effective. I must say that I was impressed by his fortitude." Jarrod fell silent. After a moment his eyes dropped meaningfully to Sutton's slice of fruitcake.

Picking up the slice from the table, Sutton broke it carefully into two equal pieces, respectfully offering one half to the older man. "But he couldn't hold out against you, Sir, could he?"

Jarrod accepted the cake with a polite smile, "Oh, no. There always comes a point at which they break. If you know what to look for, Sutton, you can see the exact moment in their eyes." He took a bite and nodded approvingly before a short fit of coughing sent crumbs across the table. Sutton hastily passed the older man the second mug of tea, watching him solicitously until the coughing subsided.

Once the fit had passed, Sutton turned his attention to his own slice of cake before asking diffidently, "Have you finished with the Client now, Sir?"

"Yes, yes," Jarrod drained the second mug of tea in a single gulp, then wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. "I've extracted all the information that the Customer requested, along with a few extra marketable items." From his pocket, he took a small bunch of keys, dropping them onto the table with a jangle. "I'm afraid that there isn't a great deal left for you to practice on, but what there is should provide you with a few interesting challenges." He cleared his throat and sniffed. "I'd like you to concentrate on your fine-work today; no incision longer than a finger-length."

The younger man nodded in acknowledgment and reached for the keys. "Will you be needing the Client again, Sir?"

Jarrod gave another sniff, "No, I don't think so. But here's a little test for you; I want you to try to keep him alive until the end of the day." He held up a finger and scowled at the youth, "Although that doesn't mean that you can let him off lightly, Sutton. I'll be down later to check."

Sutton nodded again at the other man's words. "I'll do my best, Minister." Picking up the keys, he stood and started to make his way to the door.

"Oh, and Sutton," Jarrod called after him, "Make sure that you put everything away properly, and hose down the entire room when you've finished. Last time you left it looking like a shambles."

His ears reddening once again, Sutton scuttled out through the door, closing it behind him.

There was a sound no louder than a cough and Jarrod slumped forward in his chair, his head striking the table where a pool of blood quickly formed around it.

Sheppard unscrewed the long silencer from the muzzle of his handgun and left his hiding place. Keeping to the roof space, he followed Sutton through the complex, making no more noise than a ghost.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Sheppard followed Sutton through the twists and turns of the complex until they reached a final door where the young man took the small bunch of keys from his pocket. He sorted quickly through them then unlocked the door and entered the room beyond.

With a quick glance to make certain that the coast was clear, Sheppard dropped silently from the roof space down into the deserted corridor. As the door began to close he slid through. The room was like all the others, but with one important difference. It was the one he'd been searching for.

John's hands instinctively checked that the long silencer was correctly attached before his gun coughed once. Sutton fell without a sigh.

In the exact centre of the room was a chair. It was a large, adjustable chair, very much like the kind that one would find in a dentist's surgery. McKay was strapped securely to it by his wrists and ankles. All around him, racks and tables displayed a multitude of shiny objects whose sole purpose was to harm. But Rodney was oblivious to them all.

He was unconscious; his head down, his chin buried deep in his chest, his face invisible from where Sheppard stood beside Sutton's body.

Pausing only to pull the door closed behind him, Sheppard stepped past the racks and tables to Rodney's side.

McKay was naked from the waist up, revealing the skin on his arms and shoulders as a single, livid bruise. A series of disturbingly blackened patches pockmarked his chest, and from these close quarters the smell of charred flesh made Sheppard gag. He turned his head away from the unconscious man, sucking in a deep breath and swallowing down hard on the taste of vomit in his own mouth.

Forcing himself to turn back, he gently felt Rodney's neck for a pulse. The heartbeat was surprisingly strong and steady but John had no time to feel relief as his eyes flicked over the visible injuries on McKay's body.

There were far too many to count, but none appeared to be immediately life threatening, and only one held John's attention for more than a moment; a deep, open wound on Rodney's left upper arm. The subcutaneous transmitter that had been implanted there had obviously been removed with almost surgical skill; there was hardly any blood even though the flesh around the cut looked raw and tender. It explained why they hadn't been able to get a lock on McKay, and why it had taken them so long to find him.

Finally, Sheppard's gaze fell on the rubber tube which snaked from a needle embedded in the back of Rodney's right hand and up to a glass bottle suspended from a tall, metal stand. It looked similar to the IV lines that Carson used, but, instead of crystal-clear saline or plasma, whatever was in the bottle was an unwholesome opaque brown. Sheppard reached out to pull the needle from McKay's hand, then stopped. He had no idea what the contents of the bottle were, or what they were doing to McKay, but there was a very real possibility that they were all that was keeping his heart beating so strongly. Unhooking the bottle and cradling it in the crook of his arm, John raised a hand to his radio. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard. Get us out of here."

oOo

It was pitch dark.

Whether that meant that the lights were off, his eyes had been covered, or he was blind he didn't know. And, frankly, didn't much care either.

The chair had been adjusted until he was lying flat on his back leaving the entire length of his body exposed and vulnerable. There was very little pain, yet, but the drugs sometimes worked that way at the beginning. He knew it would change soon enough.

He heard a noise to his right, close to his head, and he cringed involuntarily.

"Rodney?" The voice sounded anxious. "Rodney, it's me. John. Don't try to move." He froze; automatically obeying the command even before his brain fully registered the words. John? Huh, whoever Minister Jarrod had found to impersonate Sheppard, they were good; the voice was perfect, and, if he hadn't known that Sheppard was dead, he'd have been fooled. But Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla had been captured trying to break into the complex to rescue him. Minister Jarrod had shown him the pictures of his team after their interrogation. That's when he'd finally broken.

"Rodney, listen to me. You're safe; we're on the Daedalus heading back to Atlantis." The Daedalus? He'd already told Minister Jarrod everything about the Daedalus, what more did he want to know? He waited for the first question, but whoever was posing as Sheppard hadn't finished toying with him yet. "Damn, Rodney, I'm sorry it took so long to find you, but you're safe now. Rodney?" The voice cracked slightly, "Rodney?"

He was confused. He knew that he wasn't permitted to speak except to answer direct questions, it was one of the first things he'd learnt, but this false Sheppard seemed to be waiting for a response.

Something gently touched his right arm. He couldn't help himself and flinched away, expecting the harsh leather straps around his wrist to cut short the movement before it could begin. Instead, his hand moved freely. As it did, his fingers began to curl, sending a stab of pain shooting through the back of his hand and along his forearm. He knew the fingers were broken, yet the pain felt good; he could understand it, even control it. Squeezing his hand into a tighter fist he allowed the spike of agony to reach his shoulder.

"Rodney!" Now the voice sounded alarmed. "Doc, get over here!" Footsteps hurried towards him as a strong hand caught hold of his wrist and held it firmly, preventing him from slamming his fist down hard onto the arm of the chair. "Damn it, McKay! Stop that!" Instantly, his hand fell limp, the command cutting through his pain like a scalpel through flesh.

A new voice spoke, one he didn't recognise, "I'm putting him back under for a few hours, Colonel. I need to get him stable before we reach Atlantis if he's to have a chance."

He didn't try to fight the warm lassitude that started seeping through his veins; there wasn't any point, he knew he could never win.

"Rodney," It was the fake Sheppard again, "I know you can hear me. We're taking you home; you're safe now. Everything's gonna be okay."

Nothingness rolled over him to the sound of a dead man's voice telling him lies.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

"Over my dead body!" Sheppard seemed to suddenly remember who he was addressing and added, slightly less heatedly, "Sir."

Colonel Steven Caldwell let the outburst go, just this once. Sheppard certainly had good reason to object to his order and he wasn't the complete heartless bastard that Sheppard apparently believed him to be. But neither was he an idiot. He'd been present when Colonel Sheppard and Dr McKay had been transported back here to the Daedalus' infirmary. He'd seen a lot during his many years in the service, and, although this wasn't the first time that he had seen the effects of torture on the human body, it was probably the worst.

He looked down at McKay as the scientist lay in the infirmary bed. Now that the man was cleaned up and covered by a blanket, it was difficult to believe the condition that he had been in when he first arrived; only the bandage which swathed McKay's head gave evidence of the ill-treatment he had suffered.

Caldwell knew that if he had been in McKay's position back on the planet, even he would have handed over his own family if that was what it took to stop the pain. Allowing a non-combatant to be put into that kind of situation was inexcusable, and, in his opinion, it was just another reason why having civilians in his team was a luxury which Sheppard, as the Military Commander of Atlantis, could no longer afford. Particularly when one of the civilians in question was Dr McKay. The man was irreplaceable in terms of the Atlantis expedition, Caldwell didn't have to particularly like the scientist to accept this as the truth. More importantly, though, McKay carried in his head more information on the strengths and weaknesses of Atlantis than any other three expedition members combined. If that knowledge fell into the wrong hands… which brought Caldwell back to his original order.

"Your personal objection is duly noted, Colonel." Turning away from Sheppard, Caldwell effectively dismissed him from the conversation. "Dr Marshall, do you have any medical objections?"

The ship's doctor pursed his lips for a moment in thought before he replied. "Dr McKay's condition has remained stable for over twelve hours, and I can see no real harm in a _short_", Marshall placed a heavy emphasis on the word, "debriefing, provided that it is not overly stressful."

"I'll take that as a 'no', doctor." He nodded for the medic to proceed with his preparations, watching as a mild stimulant was introduced into McKay's IV line. Whatever Sheppard and some of the other Atlanteans might think of him, he would not have gone against the medical opinion of his ship's doctor. Marshall was an excellent field medic as well as a fine doctor, and that meant a great deal in his view.

They simply needed to know what the enemy knew about Atlantis - sooner rather than later. And there was only one person able to provide that information. He had no intention of causing further harm to Atlantis' Chief of Science, no matter what Colonel Sheppard probably thought. This had to be done.

"Permission to conduct the debriefing, Sir?" Sheppard stood in the infirmary doorway, an almost defiant look on his face. The look caused Caldwell to raise an eyebrow, but he had expected no less from the man. They may not have seen eye-to-eye on many things, but he couldn't fault the Lieutenant Colonel's dedication when it came to the care and protection of his people.

"Granted, Colonel. Make it quick but make it thorough, we need to know exactly what information Dr McKay has disclosed." He stepped back out of Sheppard's way, allowing the younger officer to sit down beside McKay's bed.

"Rodney?" Sheppard spoke softly and McKay slowly began to stir at the sound of his name. "Rodney, can you hear me?"

oOo

"Rodney?"

This time when he woke, he could feel something covering his eyes. Whether it was bandages or a blindfold, he couldn't tell; there was no specific pain, but, by now, that meant nothing.

"Rodney, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Minister Jarrod." If he answered immediately and truthfully, sometimes the pain didn't start straight away. Sometimes.

"Rodney, it's me, John. I need to ask you some questions."

No. Oh please, god, no. He wouldn't have believed that any part of him could hurt more than it had already, but the stab he felt in his chest was a new kind of agony. Interrogation by Minister Jarrod had brought him physical pain beyond anything he could have imagined, yet simply the thought of the same interrogation by Sheppard was a torture so intense that it already left him whimpering like a whipped dog.

But Sheppard was dead, and he wasn't on the Daedalus heading back to Atlantis. He was strapped helpless to the chair while this man with Sheppard's voice prepared to question him. This was an impostor brought in by Minister Jarrod to exploit yet another one of his weaknesses. Sheppard was dead. If he could keep that clear in his head then he might just survive with his mind intact.

"Rodney, I need to know exactly what you told Jarrod about the Atlantis defences."

It wasn't a direct question, but the answer was easy. "Everything he asked." There was a flash of panic as he realised that he didn't know what to call this false Sheppard. Minister Jarrod always demanded the use of his full title when he answered, and he cringed away from the expected pain. Instead, a hand fell lightly on his arm.

"I'm sorry, Rodney. I need to know specifically what you told him about our security."

'_Our'_ security? No, this was not Sheppard talking. It couldn't be. He'd seen the pictures of his team, the burned skin and fleshless bones. This was just another sadistic game of Minister Jarrod's. Now he had to think quickly. The first thing he had told Minister Jarrod had been, "Command Codes." His own, Elizabeth's, Sheppard's, Radek's, even Peter's although that one was useless now. Every set of codes that he had so stupidly committed to memory.

"That's okay, Rodney; we changed the Command Codes as soon as we knew that you'd been taken. I'm afraid there's a whole new bunch for you to memorise when we get back."

Even the half-joking tone was perfect.

He had to know.

Slowly, hesitantly, he moved his hand, expecting at every instant to feel the tug of the chair's restraints curbing his movement.

"Rodney?"

He'd reached the covering over his eyes before he felt the touch of another hand on his own.

"That's not a good idea, Rodney. Your eyes have been..." there was an almost imperceptible pause, "damaged. Wait until we get you back to Carson."

It was a command, but so softly spoken that somehow he didn't feel compelled to obey.

Bandages. His broken fingers were now splinted and useless, so he slipped his thumb beneath the dressings that covered his eyes and began to pry them loose.

"No, Rodney."

"Colonel Sheppard, I'm calling a halt to this. Step out of the way, please." Another voice, one that he'd heard somewhere once before.

A hand caught hold of his wrist, gentle but firm, and instantly he was back in the chair, unyielding leather cutting into his flesh.

Oh, god. How could he have been such an idiot? Hope was the one thing he couldn't afford, the one thing that would truly destroy him. "I'm sorry, Minister Jarrod. I'm sorry." The last word caught painfully in his throat and he fought down the sob that followed.

"Rodney, it's okay." The false Sheppard spoke again, first to him and then to someone else in the room. "Doc, exactly how much harm could it do to let him see where he is?"

"I don't see what…" The other voice began, then stopped and continued more thoughtfully, "I understand. If we dim the lights and uncover just his right eye then there is very little chance of causing any further damage."

He lay in the chair while practised hands unwound the bandages until all that covered his right eye was a thin patch of gauze.

"Dr McKay, I want you to close your eyes for a moment." This time, he obeyed the command without thinking. "Good." The gauze was removed. "Now you can open your eyes, slowly. Don't worry if your sight is blurred, but I need you to tell me if you feel any pain."

At first there was just darkness, then a pale shape leaned over him, gradually swimming into focus. It was a face under a mop of dark hair.

"Sheppard?"

"Who did you expect?" Sheppard's face broke into a broad grin.

It couldn't be true. He looked around, trying to penetrate the enclosing shadows, searching for a faint glint of light on the racks of tools that Minister Jarrod always kept so close to hand.

"Rodney?"

He looked back up into a still grinning face. Tentatively, he reached out. The hand that took his own was gentle, mindful of his broken fingers.

Sheppard.

The pain in his chest began to subside, but surged again as he remembered, "Teyla, Ronon?"

"Don't worry, Rodney, they're back in Atlantis; they were out following other leads, but I found you first." The grin widened for a moment, then faded away leaving Sheppard looking tired and grey in the darkness. "I'm sorry it took so long."

Sheppard glanced up and across the room as if someone on the far side had caught his attention, gave a slight nod, and then looked back down at him with a sad smile.

"I'm afraid that we still need the answers to a few questions."

He relaxed into the bed and closed his eyes. The pain was still there, but now it was almost totally physical. He could live with that. "It's okay, Colonel. Ask me anything."

END


End file.
